Fierce Love

by Danielle Stewart

  FIERCE LOVE

  DANIELLE STEWART

  Contents

  Dedication

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Wild Eyes, Book 2 - Sneak Peek

  Books in the Barrington Billionaire World

  Books by Danielle Stewart

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  Author Contact:

  I dedicate this book to my Aunt Ruth Cardello. Thank you for forcing me (lovingly of course) into doing things outside of my comfort zone. Being included in this project was just one of the million opportunities you’ve given me and I’ll be forever grateful.

  SYNOPSIS

  Telling James West he can’t do something is like telling lightning it can’t strike. The only thing that crosses his mind is “Challenge accepted.” Finally sitting at the helm of his family’s oil company, James is ready to conquer the industry. The gorgeous, mysterious woman who keeps crossing his path looks like the perfect distraction from the stress of his new role. He’ll have to choose between having her in his corner at West Oil or taking her to his bed.

  Libby Saint-Jane has been living a lie. One she intends to protect at any cost. When she finds herself in over her head and on the verge of failure, will her boss, James West, bail her out or kick her to the curb? He may not be the solution for all her troubles but might be the adventure she’s been waiting for.

  CHAPTER 1

  Irony was a bastard, and James West Jr. couldn’t find a thread of humor in it. Not that cliché shit like a police station getting robbed or a marriage counselor getting divorced. He was plagued by a darker version of irony. But he wasn’t going to bend to it. He’d grab the problem by the throat and squeeze until it submitted to his will.

  Building a network of contacts and capital, James was on the verge of launching the company that would change everything. His father, JW, the CEO of West Oil Sourcing and Distribution, could no longer deny evolving was the only way to survive in this market. But less than a month before James and his business partner, Mathew Kalling, could launch their new endeavor, JW was derailed by something else. A massive stroke.

  “I may have been too hasty when I told you I had your back no matter what,” Mathew announced as he sunk into the office chair across from James. The shadows under his eyes were a reminder just how quickly Mathew had shifted gears and hopped a plane from Boston to meet James down here in Texas. His normally shaven face had the first signs of a beard, and his coal black eyes were bloodshot. James wasn’t one to bear-hug his buddy and thank him for the deep loyalty, but he hoped Mathew could see it in his face. They’d started out as two smart guys who thought they’d be able to get farther in the business world by working together. Willing to tolerate each other, driven by a common purpose. Over the years, even though they didn’t talk about it, they’d take a bullet for each other. But James was asking a lot of Mathew this time, and he could see the concern folded into his face. “I didn’t mean we should scrap all we’d been doing and come work at your father’s company instead.”

  “It’s not his company,” James corrected as he signed another document and slid it to the side of the large mahogany desk. He rubbed at his temple just below his sandy blond hair and rolled the ache out of his neck. He’d barely slept since he’d gotten the news about his father’s stroke, and he certainly hadn’t relaxed. His tensed muscles were constantly flexed in a ready-to-strike stance. Staying busy made it possible to push out the image of his father in that hospital bed. “West Oil is my company now.”

  There was power in his words, but the emotion behind them made his chest feel like a hollow stump. James had been waiting a lifetime to sit in this chair and do things his way, and now it was tainted. This wasn’t how he’d always fantasized his strategic takeover of the family business. Not by default or at the expense of his father’s health. It felt like cheating.

  If anyone could understand, it would be Mathew. The two men met years ago in Boston and had one thing in common. Ambition. They had the world at their feet, both coming from wealthy families with established companies. For most late-twenty-year-olds in their position, it was easy to be seduced into a world of women, parties, and indulgence. But early on James could see Mathew was no more interested in those things than he was. It was about building something, about standing out. They’d never spoken about what fueled their drive, but James had figured over time that Mathew had something to prove to his family. Perhaps a good friend would have asked more questions, but James liked how little they knew about each other’s personal lives and histories. It was simple. Clean cut.

  James knew Mathew was a native New Englander with healthy skepticism. As a kid from Texas who had a chip on his shoulder, James understood their friendship was an unlikely one, but it worked because they built it on the sole belief that they were more likely to succeed together.

  And they had. For the past five years they’d risen from a couple of unknown kids peddling ideas about the future of the oil industry to finally being labeled as innovators and differentiators. The launch of their company would have been something to be talked about for years to come. But now, it was all on hold. And James was hoping Mathew would give him the benefit of the doubt even though the situation sounded like a nightmare.

  “JW left very few instructions in the business contingency plan, but making me the CEO was first on his list.” James kept his eyes on the stack of papers in front of him as though this conversation wasn’t open to a litany of questions. Mathew wasn’t willing to ignore the elephant in the room.

  “You call your father JW?” Mathew asked with a coughed out laugh. “I swear, how have we known each other this long and barely talked about this stuff?”

  “I don’t always call him JW. For the last ten years I’ve called him an asshole, but I didn’t want you to be confused. We know a lot of assholes.” James leaned back in his father’s chair and smirked. It was easier to laugh it off than to admit the years of arguing with his father amounted to nothing more than a mountain being built between them. They had called each other names; they’d gone long periods of time not speaking to one another, all to prove their point, and now what did either of them have to show for it? West Oil was struggling to secure its future, and James was alienated from his family. Neither of them had won. And what else was there in life besides winning?

  “You’re joking at a time like this?” Mathew asked with a judgmental raise of his brow. He’d always been better with holding his emotions in check than James had been. He had a poker face even in the most frustrating situations.

  “There’s a company to run, Mathew. That’s what we should be talking about.” James blew out a deep breath and slid his hands behind his head as though nothing at all was bothering him. It wouldn’t do any good right now to tell Mathew that the thought of his father dying made his throat close up and his head pound. James wasn’t even sure how to articulate that, even though he and his father disagreed on everyt
hing, he couldn’t imagine living in a world where he wasn’t there to fight with.

  “Why would he have left you the company if you two weren’t on speaking terms?” Mathew sat back in the high leather chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Who knows?” James shrugged. “I don’t try to understand the man. I quit that game. You can’t rationalize with unwavering stubbornness.”

  “Well, at least we can answer the age old question now.” Mathew smirked. “Unwavering stubbornness is a dominant gene, inherited by each generation.” Mathew’s body language relaxed and his voice softened. From a business standpoint the argument James was making was muddy at best. “I’ve always had your back because I think your ideas about taking the oil industry into the future are legitimate. But now I’ve got to consider your judgment might be too clouded. I’m not looking for soap opera family drama shit here. Business is business. If you hate your father—”

  James felt a slash across his chest as though the words were a dagger. “I don’t hate my father,” he corrected. “Let me worry about my motivation.” James pressed his lips together and eyed Mathew challengingly. “You just worry about doing your job.”

  “Very healthy,” Mathew replied with a sarcastic sigh. “What exactly is my job?” His eyes rolled dramatically, and his face reddened with frustration, but he beat it back. A skill envied by James who would easily be labeled a hothead.

  “I’m not looking for a shrink; I’m looking for a chief financial officer for West Oil. Are you in?” James leaned across the desk and shot his hand out for a confirming handshake. Mathew made him wait, just for a beat, but the hesitation was intentional. “This company will be unrecognizable. Stronger than ever before. My father and I could never agree on the right way to do that. He had decades to run this company, and there is no security here now. The future of West Oil is hanging in the balance. I’m going to make sure the scale tips the right way,” James asserted.

  “Because you want to prove him wrong?” Mathew asked skeptically.

  “No. The way you’re saying it makes me sound like some heartless asshole. I’m not trying to one-up my father, who’s fighting for his life. I’m not going to prove him wrong. I just want to prove I was right. There’s a subtle but important difference.”

  “You need to be medicated.” Mathew sighed, squashing the tension in the room again.

  “I agree.” James laughed loudly as he pulled a bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch from his father’s desk. “JW won’t miss this bottle. He was so stingy with this shit. Never let me have any.” There was a lot in this office that had always been off limits to James. Now here he was at the helm.

  “Should we swig it right from the bottle?” Mathew joked. “It’s not even nine in the morning. You think it’s a bit early?”

  “Never too early to toast something. I’ll go find some glasses.” James poked his head out of the office and looked in either direction. There had to be a kitchen or a break room around here somewhere. All the offices, besides his fathers, had been demoed and redone since his last time here. Everything had shifted around.

  Suddenly a woman passed him so quickly it felt like a shadow blowing by him. Not the normal pace you’d find in a professional office unless something was wrong. She was dressed in jeans, high riding boots, and a soft pink sweater. Not casual enough to be the cleaning crew and not professional enough to be an employee. The thought crossed his mind that he should ask her to point him in the direction of the nearest kitchen, but he hesitated, taking in her features as she looked at a piece of paper in her hand like she was reading a map.

  James caught a glimpse of the delicate curve of her collarbone that peeked out from the top of her scoop neck sweater, and he felt a tug in his gut. Her jeans were tightly hugging the curve of her hip and her shapely ass was pivoting rhythmically up and down as she took a few steps away from him. He could watch it all day if he had time. But he didn’t . . .

  The urge to hear her voice and know what she was doing here clawed at him. Not being one to fight an urge, he moved out his office door and called to her.

  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked loudly. His voice was deep and always carried. In a board room it made him powerful, but as this woman’s shoulders jumped, he realized the boom of his tone had startled her. “Lost?” he asked, trying to soften his voice some.

  “I’m not lost,” she bit back curtly, turning only halfway toward him and stopping reluctantly. Her hair flipped over her shoulder and exposed her neck, the pale skin nearly translucent in its unblemished purity. The perfect spot to run your tongue from collarbone to earlobe. He imagined the act as she snapped at him again. “I know my way around this office.” He watched her tuck the paper behind her back as though she’d just grabbed a cookie from the jar without permission. His level of intrigue ramped up significantly.

  “It’s just that you looked . . .” he wanted to say sexy, appetizing, “confused,” he chose instead.

  “Well, you look nosey,” she said in a squeaky voice, sounding like she was fighting a playground bully. He wrestled back a laugh as she inched away. Clearly this woman did not know who he was or what he was doing here. “I don’t need any help,” she grumbled.

  “You may if you keep that attitude,” he grunted, feeling his body pull in her direction. There was nothing like some feisty banter with a beautiful woman. Something was magnetic about her, the way she was dismissing him. He’d gotten to a level of wealth and success in his life where most women could not be trusted to be their authentic self with him. They all laughed at his jokes, appeased him, and contorted themselves into whatever they thought he wanted. He wasn’t opposed to a flexible and contorting woman in bed, but he’d grown tired of the chameleon way they adapted their comments through faked interactions with him. At least this woman wasn’t doing that. She was halfway down the hallway before she hummed something he couldn’t make out.

  “Where can I get glasses?” he called, and she stopped in her tracks. “The new CFO . . . he wants a drink and I don’t know where to get glasses.”

  He watched as she spun around, biting thoughtfully at her lip. “There’s a kitchen back there. Down that hall.” With a quick point in the other direction, she turned to leave. But he wasn’t done with her.

  “Show me,” he said, not pretending it was a question. Would she?

  “I have to go,” she replied, shaking off the stare that lingered between them. Now she was paying attention. She was looking him over the same way he was looking her over. If long deep gazes shot strings, there would be a web between them now.

  “Show me where the kitchen is,” he said, not asking nicely. This was a test he often did with people. A great way to size someone up. Demand something of them, not angrily, subtly. Watch their reaction, and you would be able to see into them like gazing to the bottom of a crystal clear lake.

  There was a nervousness about her, and he wanted to test the depth of her unease. Would she bark back at him? Would she tell him to go to hell? What kind of woman was she?

  “Fine,” she huffed, walking past him, but avoiding his stare as she passed. “It’s up this hall then a left, I think.”

  A pleaser. That’s who she was. Someone unable to say no without a long explanation of why. And even her no could be broken down if pressed. He probably could have asked her a hundred more things, and no matter how late it made her or how much it put her day in disarray, she’d feel obliged to help. She was the kind of woman who hated to disappoint.

  “And the cups?” he asked, pressing further as they both stepped into the small kitchen area.

  “How should I know?” she answered, flashing wide beautiful eyes. Like her long hair, they were a rusty brown with curiously long lashes, and he loved the spark of anger they held now. “Just look around for them,” she suggested coolly.

  “Help me look.” He was careful not to punctuate any of his words with a question mark. This was becoming a fun distraction and the glasses he was looking
for were of secondary importance.

  “I have to go. I have to get home.” Jumpiness fell over her face, and he saw she was near tears. Her eyes glazed over quickly, and her head tipped back as she blinked them away. “I really need to go.”

  His gut sank instantly. This had just changed from a playful game of him testing her willingness to accommodate to something wholly different. He might be a powerhouse in the boardroom, but he was no bully.

  As he stepped aside to let her pass, she surprised him. Pulling a chair over to the cabinets, she climbed up and began poking around for cups.

  “I’ll find them,” he offered, feeling bad for pushing this far.

  “No, here they are,” she said victoriously, sliding a sleeve of cups down from the shelf. The way her face lit with success had him fighting a laugh. A people pleaser was a personality James could never understand. He never worked for someone else’s praise. It never mattered to him what people thought, if he’d made them proud or not. Success was black and white. Or really black and red. You were either losing money or making money. That’s how he measured success.